A poem about the person who taught me how to love and be loved

Gold

In the eyes of gems.

I thought I knew what love was.

Deep russet

Eyes had glazed over and shot me

Again and again

With arrows of love.

They needled into my soft flesh

But penetrated no further.

I couldn't let them.

I thought I knew what love was.

Sacred songs

Fluid in my chest

A sweet psalm of worship and adoration.

Standing for hours,

Unwavering,

Droplets of water from a sea I had never seen.

I thought I knew what love was.

Air pressed from my lungs

Translated into glory

A face shaped mask

Contorting with my soul.

Tangible grief, joy, connection.

I thought I knew what love was.

But

Thinking

Being

Knowing

Feeling

Are not love.

Love is the person I met that slipped me my coffee with that extra cinnamon shaped heart and a pink lipped smile that made my heart start to beat.

Love is the safe hands of one who slipped into my body and felt every touch that bruised me, yet looked me in the eye with a calm "it's okay."

Love is being in the presence of the closest to holy a person can be, and not combust while lying against a cool back.

Love is two hooks caught in the rapids, clinging to each other as to not be swept away.

They are love. Human, messy, lovely, imperfection in one. Caught somewhere between the lines of the hyperbolic world. Strength and grace with no other reason to be other than that they just so are.

Gold in the eyes of gemstones. The arrows go deeper now. I let them sink in, finally.

My love, I do not know your name yet, but I know you.

And you are LOVE.

And you are loved.

I miss you. Where did you go?